Fishtown in Winter

I remember that blurry, snow-swirling day above Fishtown. Brenda was determined to be out in it, painting. So I hauled an old palette crate down to the guard rail along side of Lake Street, padded it with a couple of moving blankets, and then backed my SUV up to the crate and lifted up the back door.

Inside, she sat. Shivering. Frothy steam poured from her mouth as she drank hot cocoa and absorbed the melting marshmallows. Out she went to paint, and in Chicken Big ran to our gallery. I checked back with her every half hour, bringing something hot to drink. She painted all day.

But the snow ­– it was not exactly white. The circle road around the harbor parking lot moved in iridescent pinks and yellows. Fishtown’s buildings glowed red violet.

The following morning, Brenda had a head cold, but the snow swirled round in round in swirling pinks and yellows.

Blue Winter Breaking

Snow can be blue, too. Scientifically, it turns blue when packed together and deep enough. The red light waves are absorbed and only the blue waves escape to reflect that color back in to our eyes.

On that warming March day on Leland Estates Drive overlooking the Manitous Islands, the huge snow base of two feet plus had begun to melt. It began to compact. Brenda’s palette for the snow that day reveals just such a blue hue. She didn’t study the electromagnetic spectrum before going out to paint that day, but came as close to realism as her Expressionistic mode (unknowingly) took her.

Blue Winter Breaking could also be a summer scene, suggesting the sun’s bright light bouncing off a sandy ridge above Lake Michigan. But it was a perfect winter day melting toward spring.